


David-Proof

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, David needs a hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 18:37:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19382458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: Patrick keeps a David-proof budget that David doesn't know about. Until he does.





	David-Proof

David learned about the budget the way he usually learns about things in the world – completely by accident. Patrick didn’t want David to know about it, but what David lacked in practical knowledge he made up for in enthusiasm and bad timing, and that made for unpredictable consequences. Also, maybe, just maybe, Patrick shouldn’t have labeled the file, “David-Proof Budget.”

Patrick still blames David’s enthusiasm.

“You think I should be more involved in the money side of things?” David asked as he stared at the computer like it might take away his eye cream.

“More _aware_ , I said. Not involved. Involved is the wrong word,” Patrick answered. He rested his chin on David’s shoulder and breathed in deeply so he could enjoy David’s cologne up close.

David nodded and actually poked at the computer screen. “Aware of the money,” he said.

“Right.”

“As in, ‘Oh look how much money we made today!’ That kind of aware?”

Patrick rubbed his chin on David’s soft sweater. They may be mostly ridiculous, but there’s been more than one night when Patrick pulled one out of their drawers at home and wrapped himself in it just to feel content. “Maybe add to that kind of awareness an awareness of how quickly you turn around and buy more stuff for the store. You know, maybe let the money simmer for a few weeks.”

David turns and presses a kiss to Patrick’s cheek. “I know an accountant who’s simmering right now.”

“David,” Patrick said. He _wanted_ to kiss David senseless in the middle of the shop, but now wasn’t the time.

David stepped back and crossed his arms. “Patrick,” he sing-songed. “I’m the buyer. I buy things. That’s literally my job.”

Patrick sighed. This is why he had the David-proof budget. He just wished he didn’t have to use it. “Fine. But maybe see if Tallahassee can drop the price of her cheese just a slice?”

“I see what you did there,” David said, and he leaned in for one more kiss.

Patrick indulged him. David might have been spoiled for things and money for most of his life, but hadn’t been spoiled with physical affection, and Patrick had a hard time denying him (despite Alexis whining, ‘gross’ at them from time to time). Patrick broke the kiss and headed back to his office.

“A buyer, Patrick,” David called after him. “My actual job.”

When David went quiet a few days later, Patrick knew something was wrong. He could read David-signs pretty well. Some signs were easy – he could spot a hangry David thirty minutes out and make sure a smoothie or bowl of unsalted popcorn made it into his hands before it got ugly. Some signs – not so much. He was still never sure with quiet David. It could be anything from they ran out of vinaigrette dressing at the café to raging insecurity that erupted like a spewing volcano and often led to David face-down on their bed for two days.

This quiet seemed more like the latter, but Patrick wasn’t sure. At the moment it was bad enough that David was in the shop after hours rearranging the artisan soap display with such veracity that he snapped a piece in half.

Patrick went to get him tea. When he got back, David was sitting on the counter with his knees pulled up to his chest. Patrick faltered in the doorway and then shook himself out of it and handed David his tea and a kiss on the temple. When David kept staring at the computer screen, Patrick followed his eyes and blew out a breath as his shoulders sagged.

“David,” he started.

“What does ‘David-proof’ mean?” David said over him. “This is your budget for the store, isn’t it?”

Patrick leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, looked down at the floor. “Yeah. That’s the budget.”

“But you call your budget the ‘Scrooge Spreadsheet’ and you keep it up every day.”

“Yeah.”

“But this is filled in completely and I see my last soap order from yesterday.”

Patrick closed his eyes. “Yeah.” He wasn’t sure where to go with this. Making David feel stupid was the last thing he ever wanted to do when it came to the store. Other things, like cooking utensils, sure. That was funny. This wouldn’t be. He started to explain, but David spoke over him.

“My parents completely subsidized my art gallery when I opened it in New York. I never knew until we moved here.”

Patrick looked up sharply.

 David’s voice was flat. “I thought I was running a successful gallery. Acted like I knew what I was doing. I was – “ he broke off for a moment before meeting Patrick’s gaze. “I was proud of myself,” he said with a shrug and wry smile.

“David,” Patrick started, because this was raging insecurity times ten, and David didn’t deserve an ounce of it.

But David interrupted. “Is our store working?” he asked. “Is it looking like that year-before-a-profit thingy is right? Or is it, I don’t know, doomed or whatever?”

Patrick sucked in a deep breath. 

“I’m not going to do that again,” David said softly. “I’m just not. Tell me when I fail and I’ll find something else to do.”

Patrick couldn’t help his own grin.

“Oh shut up,” David sighed.

“What would you do, exactly?”

“Go into business with Ted, that’s what,” David said, and Patrick could hear the teasing again, the notes of confidence.

“Ted’s clinic could do with a little sprucing,” Patrick said.

“Patrick.”

Patrick reached up and scratched the back of his neck. “Look, David. The store is doing fine. You don’t have to go ask Ted for a job. I’ve run some projections and it actually looks like we might make it out of the red in less than a year.” He paused and smiled. “The open mic nights helped.”

David ignored the joke this time. “Why do you have a budget sheet labeled “David-proof’?”

Patrick leaned forward and cupped David’s face in his hands. He looked into those brilliant dark eyes and said, “Because you really _don’t_ know how to pay attention to the money, even when I ask, and if I gave you, official buyer, full access to all of the funds all of the time then we might not get out of the red as fast.” He pressed a kiss to David’s forehead. “You kind of take your job title a little too seriously.”

David was quiet for a moment, but then he nodded. “So it’s just a backup plan?”

“I kind of need backup plans,” Patrick replied with a shrug.

“I kind of need a budget, I guess,” David said.

“You’re learning.”

“You think?”

“Well, at least you know what a budget is, now. And you could tell the difference between Scrooge and this one, so …”

“I’m brilliant, is what you’re saying.” David’s thousand-watt smile was back, and it warmed Patrick down to his toes, more than any sweater ever could.

“I didn’t say that.”

David slipped out from behind the counter to go back to the soaps. “I think you did.”

And Patrick typed a new entry into the budget line for soaps and shook his head. “Of course you do.”

 


End file.
